Closure
by yammdere
Summary: Lucy and Al visit the Makepeaces. (Layton Brothers: Mystery Room)
**Title:** Closure
 **Author:** Amm  
 **Fandom:** Layton Brothers: Mystery Room  
 **Characters:** Lucy Baker, Alfendi Layton  
 **Wordcount:** 1,491  
 **Summary:** Lucy and Al visit the Makepeaces.

* * *

"What a sentimental sap you are," a voice said. It cut like a knife through the silence of the prison graveyard, which was naturally as gray, bleak and depressing as anyone would expect.

Lucy jumped. She was the only one there at the time, and she certainly hadn't expected any visitors. The bouquet of flowers in her hand (which she nearly dropped) stood out like a sore thumb, but it made her presence warm like sunlight, and very welcome. Her awkwardness from how out of place she felt only added to the charm, which made Alfendi's lips curl into a smirk.

"Ee, Prof!" Lucy replied, shaken. Potty Prof, she noted; though they switched back and forth so much more often than they used to, she hardly felt it worth mentioning. "I weren't expecting t'see you here."

"Barton told me where I might find you," he admitted. His hand ran through his hair, presently a subtle shade of dark red, and he added with arrogance: "Naturally I was curious, but I had my ideas."

She was used to the Prof being able to read her like a book. She was more interested in his hands, which were now pulling out one of the many rolls of newspaper in his pockets. She always wondered what the hell he had stashed in there (and how). Today, hidden within the roll he chose was . . . a single flower. One he presumably brought with him of his own volition. It took a moment for this to sink in.

She pouted, arms crossed. "It i'nt fair to call me a sentimental sap when yer clearly copying me."

She was only teasing, but his reaction was explosive. "No! It isn't me! It's . . ."

 _My pathetic other self._ Ah, the Prof wasn't the only one who could read, so to speak. Lucy was getting used to the personality swapping. She could predict them sometimes (like now), and while Potty still unnerved her at times, she was beginning to accept him. (How could she not, after learning he was the 'real' Prof . . . ?)

Al groaned. His hair dulled to purple, and he straightened, approaching her. He distorted the stem of the flower in his grasp. It was a good thing there weren't thorns.

"Ah . . . it was a term of endearment." Placid backpedaled cooly. He looked thoughtful when he continued. "Actually, I happen to think this is a good idea after all."

Lucy looked shocked. Her eyes lowered to the grave in front of her, where she'd been standing indecisively before company found her. It was unlabeled—Diane Makepeace never received any prisoner number, having only been caught after she died. Next to her though, was the grave of her father, Keelan; and Lucy had to insist before Commissioner Barton would help her find where they were both buried.

Together.

Her feet shuffled. "Really?" she asked. Not that Placid would lie. "The way I remember it, y'wanted me t' leave 'er well alone. Let the past stay in the past, n' all that."

It was true. He had been on old man Barton's side. Being exonerated, Al was happy to put Forbodium behind him. He came to realize, however (and he was sure Barton did too), that for Lucy, it was different.

"I did," he agreed. He moved, and Lucy felt a weight on her shoulder in the form of Al's hand—a comforting gesture she hadn't quite expected. "But it isn't about that for you, is it? It isn't about the past. You had nothing to do with the Jigsaw Killings before you became my assistant."

Lucy shook her head. "No, I didn't." (Though she didn't know exactly what the Prof was getting at.)

Al's hand lowered until they met with her own, still clinging to her bouquet. She felt pressure and realized he was signaling her to bend, so they did, together, until they were both knelt on the ground. Gently, they both reached forward to put the bouquet and the single, elegant flower between both graves.

"It's closure," he continued, speaking definitively. She tilted her head at him as he spoke. "I got mine when you proved my innocence once and for all. Perhaps . . . this is yours."

 _Closure._ She hadn't thought of it that way, but she was willing to bet that the Prof was right. She watched blankly as he let her hand go, and her grip loosened as well. She turned to meet his eyes once she broke out of the daze.

"You might be onto something there."

At first, Al didn't react. He didn't need the confirmation to know he was right. Then Lucy started to laugh, nervously and awkwardly, and it was contagious. A light chuckle escaped him for lack of anything else to say, and against all odds, they were actually able to sit comfortably, defying the dark, foreboding atmosphere.

Not that it would last. The graves surrounding them made sure of that, giving off this air that they had eyes, watching them. After that warm moment shared, they both stood; Al first, who offered Lucy his hand. She took it, subtly brushing the dirt off her very white pants.

"You must have had something you wanted to say to her before I interrupted," Al said. His tone was apologetic, but also encouraging, which put Lucy on the spot.

"Eh?" She seemed alarmed, but deflated quickly. "Oh . . ."

There were nights when she couldn't sleep when she would think about this. Now, however, those nights felt distant, few and far between. She seemed lost when Al's patience got the better of him. His hair subtly reddened again.

"Well, get on with it, you silly girl!"

It was enough to snap Lucy out of her thoughts. Not enough to scare her, though—not anymore. "Oi! Steady on, would you? I was thinkin—"

"Clearly not your strong suit." He folded his arms, but obliged.

Two months ago, she probably would have been offended. Today, she huffed and tried to come up with something meaningful.

"I'm sorry."

Alfendi was surprised by the suddenness of her words. "What?"

"Aye. That's what I want to tell 'er," she said, more confident than before. "Sorry. That I weren't quick enough. That she never got t' know th' truth."

"How idiotic," Potty snapped coldly. "Blaming yourself will only slow you down, and then I won't need you."

"She died thinkin' you were th' one that killed 'er Papa," Lucy interjected. "If I had just cracked th' case sooner, maybe . . ."

"She tried to kill you," the Prof reminded her. It was a tone that teetered on the edge of both personalities. Al held his head as Lucy watched on.

"She gave me an out," she insisted. "A fighting chance."

Diane even said so herself. Lucy thought back, and as she did, she wondered if the Commissioner and Prof were right all along. She needed the closure, just not the past baggage that came with it. She couldn't have one without the other though, could she? So there she was, stuck in the middle, trying to let go. Waiting for that final push . . .

Suddenly, Al grabbed her wrist. It seemed her defiance (and stubbornness) had solidified Potty Prof as the reigning personality for the time being. Lucy's eyes widened at the force behind the pull as she jerked forward.

"Hey—"

"We're going."

"Tha's my hand, that is!"

. . . He lightened his grip only slightly. Her eyes wandered back towards the graves they were leaving behind as she was dragged along. She grumped and started to struggle before Al spoke.

" _He_ came out of concern for you," he said. There was disgust in his voice as he sought to make it perfectly clear: "I let him because we have a case."

"Liar," Lucy replied, without really considering it.

It made him smirk. "Oh, you think?"

"I know you a little now, so gi'me a bit more credit than that, eh?" She smirked, too. "You'd be way too excited 'bout any case worth investigatin' not to tell me about it before now. Which means you've got nothing."

The subtle tug on Al's lips died immediately and his face soured. "That's _not_ true. And you really are a sap," he seethed bitterly. "The worst kind, too."

"Aye," Lucy admited. "Y'think that's why we make such a great team, you n' me?"

Al did not dignify her question with an answer. Instead he groaned as he let go of her wrist, and haughtily fell into step beside her. She laughed and elbowed him playfully as they went.

Behind them, a tag attached to the flowers they left fluttered lightly in the breeze. The words they left were for the desperate girl who, for all her mistakes and misunderstandings, deserved to live; and her father, who was used by one selfish man who took the law into his own hands.

 _'Make peace.'_

Perhaps that was the true purpose of the Mystery Room in the long run: peace, one case at a time.

* * *

 **A/N:** _Tentatively back and writing again?! I've updated my profile for anyone interested._

 _I've loved Mystery Room for a long time. After not writing fic for almost as long a time, this idea hit me fierce-though it did not contain as much Diane as originally intended._

 _Alas! Maybe for another fic. I hope you enjoyed-and I apologize if Lucy's accent doesn't come across. I tried, and welcome suggestions to improve her if you have any._


End file.
